Only His Touch ( Forever Friends, Book 2 of 4)

by Webb, Peggy

  Ironic that he’d ended up exactly where he left off almost thirty-two years ago. A vision of Janice came to him, standing in the alley waving good-bye.

  I love you, Johnathan. I’ll always love you.

  “Here’s to you, Janice, wherever you are.” He lifted his head off the makeshift pillow so the booze wouldn’t strangle him. “And to you, Hunter La Farge, King of Diamonds.”

  The bitter bile of defeat rose in his throat. Nothing in his life had ever turned out the way he’d thought it would. He judged the level of liquor in the bottle before he upended it once more.

  You’re a smart man, Tokolosh. Why don’t you try to make something of yourself?

  Marlin Lincoln, the only friend he’d ever had had told him that... how many years ago? Ten? Twelve?

  Marlin had died the only way it was possible in the wilds of Africa, violently. Was that to be his fate too?

  Suddenly Johnathan shivered. He’d imagined so much more for himself.

  The liquor began to swirl around in his head, and out of the alcoholic fumes came a vision, a woman with long black hair sitting under the parasol tree with her dog. He stared at his bottle, seeking inspiration.

  Perhaps there was a way out after all.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The lights were still on in the studio.

  It was nearly midnight. He’d expected to find Kathleen in the bed, to slip in beside her and find sweet forgetfulness in her arms. No questions. No explanations. Just quick, desperate passion that burned away everything except the taste and smell and feel of her.

  Hunter dismissed the two guards at the door, had them take Jake back to the house, then stood in the doorway watching. He didn’t call her name, didn’t move close. Like a long-lost soldier returning to his beloved homeland, he devoured every small detail of her, the dark curls that had escaped from her ponytail and were plastered to her cheeks with sweat, the slender hands that moved like two snow-white birds, the graceful throat where her pulse fluttered, the high proud thrust of her breasts.

  Here was everything he needed, contained in the softness of woman, the passionate indomitable spirit of Kathleen. Nothing else mattered. Certainly not a brief encounter in a hotel room.

  What do you want from me?

  Money... money... money.

  Hunter clenched his hands into fists to shut out the memory. What had he expected to find in that room? A father? At his age?

  He bit back a harsh laugh. Music filled the room, music and the muffled sound of Kathleen’s ballet slippers against the floor.

  Suddenly he saw her with new eyes, not as the woman he loved but as a dancer. She was magnificent, transcendent. She whirled around the room without a bobble, finding her way through the darkness with a grace that took his breath away. Watching her, he would never have guessed that she couldn’t see.

  Leaning against the door, he watched until the music ended.

  “Brava!” he said, clapping his hands. “Brava!”

  She lifted her head like a doe caught in the woods by predators.

  “Hunter...” She made no move to come toward him, but stood in the middle of the studio with a peculiar waiting stillness.

  “You’re ready for the stage, Kathleen.”

  “Not yet.”

  “You’re magnificent.”

  “I have to be perfect.”

  Silence swirled around them. Her breasts rose and fell with her softly labored breathing. He started across the floor.

  She didn’t speak, didn’t move as he approached her. He stopped only inches from her, surrounded by jasmine heated by her exertions and lying fragrant along her glowing skin. A small bead of sweat shiny as a star inched down the side of her neck and pooled in the spot where her pulse beat.

  Careful not to touch her yet with his hands, he leaned forward and licked the moisture, sucking on her skin as if he could take her into himself and keep her there forever. A small tremor shook her, but she remained still and silent in the middle of the dance floor, a Venus carved in ivory.

  Drunk with her, he reached up and untied the ribbon in her hair, holding out his hands so he could catch the silky strands as they cascaded around her shoulders. The rhythm of her breathing changed. His need became almost unbearable, but tonight he didn’t want quick relief. He wanted to sink slowly into her and drown, spending hours, days, plunging so deep that there was nothing except sensation and oblivion.

  Her hair clung to his fingers, curling intimately around them. With gentle pressure, he pulled her close. Hot. She was so hot. He pressed his aching body against hers, fitting himself between her legs. She sucked in her breath, once, sharply.

  With his hands still in her hair, he gazed down at her. He could see each separate eyelash, the tiny line of moisture along her upper lip, the lips themselves, full, ripe, slightly parted.

  Like dancers in an erotic tango, they swayed together, trapped by the dark music that flowed from his soul to hers. Their hips began to move in perfect rhythm, languorous, exotic, friction creating heat that smoldered through them. Her head fell back, exposing the tender throat, the blue vein pulsing at its base.

  There his lips explored, and lower, nudging aside the neck of her leotard. Like a flower, fragrant creamy satin with luscious pink bud, she waited for him, waited for the seeking tongue and the hungry mouth.

  He peeled away her leotard, stripping it in one fluid move that left her naked before him, naked and beautiful. Kneeling, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed his face against the soft skin of her abdomen. She tangled her hands in his hair, rocking gently, holding tight, knowing his need.

  He breathed deeply, as if by doing so he could absorb her. His hands began to move, across the swell of her hips, down her thighs, over her calves, around the delicate ankles. He bent down and kissed the arch of her right foot, then lifted it slowly and anchored her leg over his shoulder.

  He devoured her slowly while she swayed above him, rich and ripe and full of passion song. The unsettling events of the day slipped away, and there was nothing except the delicious sensuality of the woman whose body bloomed at his touch. Time had no meaning. Place ceased to exist. It was not Kathleen who was blind, but he, blind to everything except her soft, fragrant flesh and the fires she kindled.

  Hard shudders shook her once, twice, and then again. Still she had not spoken. The moment was too fragile for speech. Both of them understood that.

  He slipped out of his clothes and she lay upon the floor, throwing her arms over her head and arching her back, silently offering herself to him. Poised above her, he licked the moisture from her bottom lip. She trembled, waiting. He swept his tongue across her lips again. And again. Her eyes were wide, her breath warm against his cheek.

  In one fluid thrust he gave up the exquisite agony of waiting. She arched higher, her pleasure cry breaking the silence. Tremors overtook her, and he waited, buried deep, while she fell over the edge once more.

  Then he began the long silken slide toward home. Slowly, softly he traveled the familiar pathway, savoring each moment of the journey. Tension built in him, pushing him faster, harder.

  Sweat slicked their bodies, dampened their hair. Still they raced together through the night, panting, desperate, unable and unwilling to stop.

  Lying upon her, surrounded by her sweet hot flesh, he was made whole again. And he knew that as long as he stayed in that place, in that woman, he would be complete.

  Her fresh climax shook them both, and still he swept over her and through her, again and again, insatiable, invincible. Her skin had the glow of alabaster. The incandescent lights in the studio caught in the perspiration and made a shining path from her throat to her thighs. She made a small strangled cry of protest when he eased out of her. But raised on his elbows, he soothed her with his lips and tongue, tracing the shining pathway downward, pausing to delve deeply into her honeyed sweetness. With soft animal cries she clutched his shoulders and ground her hips upward, her body language telling him more clearly t
han words that she was as desperate as he to hold on to the moment, to stay in that magical realm.

  Something dark and forbidding dwelt just beyond the boundaries of the world they’d created, and the only way they could keep it at bay was to love.

  He pressed into her once more, their bodies melding as one, their limbs spread at impossible angles and tangled so that it was useless to guess where he left off and she began. Still they had not spoken, did not dare to speak.

  Occasionally one of them would become perfectly still, and they would lie together with her face resting on his thigh or his lips against her breast until they regained their strength. There was no thought of time, no thought of sleep, no thought of anything except the remarkable journey they’d embarked upon.

  Toward morning they reached the high bright pinnacle of oblivion. Tense, rigid, they held on to each other, crying out their joy... and their sorrow; for now it had come to an end. Softly they began to fall. Slowly they eased back, their sleek bodies relaxing, their breathing ragged and labored, until they lay together, a boneless heap.

  Pale pink light fell upon the windowpanes and birds stirred from their perches in the branches of parasol trees that surrounded the studio. Morning had come unawares.

  Hunter closed his eyes, trying to bring back the night. Feeling his pain, Kathleen brushed her lips across his face. Wordlessly he cupped her face and held it close.

  “The night should never have ended,” he whispered.

  “I wish it hadn’t.”

  Agony twisted his soul.

  “Don’t say any more, Kat.”

  “I must, Hunter.” She ran her hands over his chest, curling her fingers into the crisp hair. “I must,” she whispered.

  He pulled her fiercely to him and kissed her.

  “Don’t, Hunter. Oh, please don’t. I’m weak when you touch me.”

  “No. You are strong. I’m your strength and you are mine.” He kissed the soft skin behind her ears, the fine sweep of her dark eyebrows, her damp cheeks, her lover-bruised lips. “Two against the world, Kat.”

  For a while she leaned into him, savoring his kiss, encouraging his tongue. Tension built in her once more, and he felt the tight, hard peaking of her nipples against his chest and the exquisite agony of his own arousal.

  She trembled above him, and he waited, breathless, for the sweet slide that would catapult them once more into their own private world.

  “No!” Her cry was harsh as she pushed herself away from him. Wrapping her arms tightly around her legs and pressing her face against her knees, she sat with her back to him. “I can’t keep doing this.”

  “Doing what, my love?” Even as he asked the question he knew. Her thought processes had never been a secret to him. He knew her mind as well as he knew his own.

  “Running away. Hiding.”

  “We’re not hiding. We spent the night in your studio making love. Soon we’ll shower and dress and eat breakfast and go about our usual business.”

  She didn’t answer. Quietly he gathered their clothes. She took hers without a word. He dressed silently, watching her. In one fluid move she stood and slid into her leotard; then she shook back her hair and faced him. Her notion of where he stood was slightly off, so he moved into her line of vision. He couldn’t bear the thought of Kathleen talking to the window beyond his head.

  “What is your usual business, Hunter?”

  “Diamonds.”

  “I know. But what do you do every day? Where do you go?”

  “Sometimes to the mines. Sometimes to my office. It depends.”

  “You haven’t been to the mines since I came, and rarely to the office. You’ve been baby-sitting me.”

  “My operation runs smoothly wherever I am and whatever I am doing.”

  He knew where the questions were leading, and he wanted to cover his ears like a child to shut them out.

  “And where were you yesterday?”

  “A small matter needed my attention.” He hardly knew himself what had happened yesterday, why he had gone and what the consequences would be. If fate were kind, the matter was over and done with. She need never know, never worry.

  She stared long and hard at him, seeing not with her eyes but her soul. Suddenly she balled her hands into fists and turned away.

  “Kathleen?” He put his hand on her shoulder.

  “I can’t see your face, Hunter. I wish I could see your face.”

  “I’m telling you the truth. There was a small matter that needed my attention and now it’s over and done with. Finished.” He squeezed her shoulder, then bent and kissed the nape of her neck. “Come, my love. Let me take you back to the house.”

  His rich voice beguiled her; his body heat drew her to him like a moth to flame. She found herself swaying, both from fatigue and from uncertainty. Was she doing the right thing? Was she sacrificing one dream for another?

  She drew apart from him, knowing that as long as he touched her, she would be under his spell.

  “I’m leaving you, Hunter,” she whispered. He reached for her, his hand skimming her arm. “No, please. Don’t touch me. I can’t do this if you touch me.”

  “I won’t let you go.”

  “You have no choice.”

  All at once she was overcome with fatigue. She sank into the middle of the floor and covered her face with her hands.

  “Kat?” He knelt beside her. “Darling, are you all right?”

  “Yes. I’m fine.”

  The darkness. The never-ending darkness. Somehow it gave her strength.

  She stood up. “Yesterday, when I woke up and found you gone, I panicked.”

  “I’m sorry. I should have told you I was leaving.”

  “No. It wasn’t finding myself alone that made me afraid. It was finding myself dependent that scared me.”

  She could feel his pain building until it was a living, pulsing being, howling around the studio like a crazed animal. She wrapped her arms around herself to stop shivering.

  Hunter would not easily let her go. His silence was not acquiescence but a dark brooding thunderstorm waiting to happen.

  “I wanted you there with me, Hunter, acting as a buffer between me and the rest of the world. I thought how easy you made my life, how wonderful. I thought about selling my own houses and staying forever in this sweet prison with you at my side. I even thought about giving up all thoughts of returning to the stage.”

  “Everybody is entitled to an occasional moment of weakness.”

  “It wasn’t an occasional moment, Hunter. It lasted all day.”

  “I shouldn’t have stayed away so long.”

  “See. That’s just what I’m talking about. All day long I listened for your footsteps, for the sound of your voice. Every few minutes I checked my watch. I didn’t want to be dancing. I didn’t want to be planning a comeback. I wanted nothing except to be in your arms.”

  He caught her shoulders and, in spite of her protests, pulled her fiercely into his embrace.

  “You don’t have to sacrifice anything, Kat. We’ll leave together. We’ll go wherever you want to go. Paris. Rome. London. New York. Just name it and we’ll go there. I can conduct my business from anywhere in the world.”

  Heaven help her, she wanted him again, wanted to pull him onto the floor and open herself up to him. He knew. The very air became electrified with their passion.

  “You can be as independent as hell, Kat. We’ll live in your house with your servants and your bodyguards. We’ll work everything around your schedule.”

  His voice was low, urgent, persuasive.

  “Everything will work out,” he said. “Trust me, my love.” His hips moved in sweet seduction against hers. “Trust me,” he whispered.

  Moaning, she arched her back, as he slid his mouth down the side of her throat, then lower.

  She was gone. Lost.

  She summoned her last ounce of courage and wrenched herself free.

  “Trust? You call this trust? You’re using my weak
ness against me.”

  “If it’s weakness, then it’s mine too.”

  One last searing touch. His hands on her hips, hers in his hair. One last lingering kiss. Mouths clinging, hearts beating hard and wild. Never wanting to let go. Never.

  He drew apart slowly, then tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Come, Kat. Let’s go back to the house. We’ll talk about this later after you’ve had some food and rest.”

  “Don’t treat me like a child, Hunter.” She drew her hand away.

  “I’m not treating you like a child. I’m using common sense. We’ve been up all night. We’re both tired and hungry. It’s foolish to make decisions under those conditions.”

  “This is not a spur-of-the-moment decision, Hunter. I’ve known for a long time that I have to prove myself... alone.”

  “Let me help you, Kat. Don’t shut me out.”

  All the loneliness and anxiety of the previous day came back to her. And with it the courage to withstand the persuasive powers of Hunter La Farge.

  “Isn’t that what you did yesterday, Hunter? Shut me out?” His silence damned him. “You talk about trust.... It works both ways. If you don’t trust me, how can I trust you?”

  “I trust you completely,” he said.

  It was her turn to be silent. His long, secret absence was really no mystery to her. Sometime after dark, hours before his midnight return, she’d figured out where he was.

  “What was he like, Hunter? What did you feel?”

  He prowled the room like a stalking lion. She waited. At last he stood before her, filled with silent agony that brought tears to her eyes.

  “Rejected,” he said. “My father made me feel rejected all over again.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, reaching for him. “I’m so sorry.”

  He laid his cheek against her hair.

  “Sweet Kathleen. You were always sweet... even when you were being a devil.”

  He stepped back, chuckling. It was a masterpiece of deceit. Hunter was trying to protect her, just as he always had, just as he always would, she supposed.